


T-Minus

by mightyscrub



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: F/F, tangential boss/sorrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 00:36:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11002290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightyscrub/pseuds/mightyscrub
Summary: A slice of life moment with some feelings at NASA, written for a penpal prompt!





	T-Minus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LotusRox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusRox/gifts).



Of course one of the first things she noticed about Strangelove was that she was a woman.

They never talked about it much more than that, and all their male counterparts somewhat irritably avoided the subject entirely, but it was a silent understanding between the two of them, the moment their eyes met. Strangelove was a woman and very young.

The Boss, who had also once been young (and perhaps once been a woman too), respected that immediately.

They were both incredibly capable and above all workaholics. It became a normal part of life to expect Strangelove whenever entering the NASA research building early in the morning or leaving late at night. When one of them made coffee, they wound up automatically making a cup for the other.

Of course talking happened somewhere in between.

This was the unexpected part: The Boss liked Strangelove.

And something else unexpected, that took far longer to realize:

Strangelove was beautiful.

The Boss was an old heap of bones, bound to die of radiation sickness someday-or-other, already pregnant and hollowed out again with a scar and no child for it… An old dog, in other words, admiring a young intelligent Venus. Wasn’t that classic military literature? Quietly The Boss smiled at the thought.

It was funny in how unattainable and self-absorbed it was.

But she could tell Strangelove liked her too.

x

They had completely different jobs to fill, but Strangelove’s breaks did seem to coincide perfectly with hers, which of course was no accident. They never openly discussed it, but somehow they came to develop a tradition of taking a maintenance stair up to the roof for their shared lunch. It was an open breathable space, with some sky instead of just blockish computers and men in white shirts.

The Boss got the impression she liked the fresh air more than Strangelove did, but Strangelove was willing to deign the outdoors for her company.

The compromise was that they would sit in the shade cast by the stairwell’s little shed. Strangelove had sensitive skin, prone to sunburns. Sometimes they’d wind up scooting along the roof circling the shed as the sun moved, following the shadows. Two grown professional women—it must have looked ridiculous.

But Strangelove had a way of making just about anything dignified. Maybe it was her accent. Or her prim suits that seemed impervious to wrinkles. Mostly she wore dress shirts and waistcoats, but sometimes she showed up from some meeting or other in a full man’s suit, jacket and all, and this particular suit didn’t fit her right and reminded The Boss of how young Strangelove really was. But even in that case, Strangelove would walk around so straight-backed and stern-faced, as if daring anybody to doubt her authority, that most of her coworkers still cowered in her presence. To The Boss it was endearing.

They often sat in simple companionable silence during their lunches, but today Strangelove was asking questions. She got into these moods sometimes, where she suddenly had to grill The Boss for information. Such were scientists.

“I heard you won Normandy for us almost single-handedly.” That’s how Strangelove phrased her questions, asking for a confirmation or debunk of The Boss’ assorted legends.

The Boss snorted. “Not quite. In fact I went into labor and barely survived.”

“Labor? You were pregnant at Normandy?” Strangelove’s disbelief was delightfully vicious and accusatory.

“Yes,” The Boss said simply.

Strangelove frowned, processing this information over a bite of sandwich. She always chewed thoroughly, swallowed, before talking again. Prim and precise. “That means you have a child.”

“Yes and no.” Honestly, it was surprising how easily this conversation was going. Most of the time The Boss could hardly bear to think about these things, but somehow here in the fresh air with Strangelove’s youth and prying interest it just came out. Like she was exposing herself to the cool air, expecting pain but only finding the fresh breeze curling gently into the cracks she’d kept hidden. Refreshing. “I gave birth, but the child was taken away from me.”

Strangelove’s frown deepened. “They can do that?”

“With someone like me, they can.”

“That’s absurd.”

“Maybe. But everything about me is absurd.”

The Boss found herself charmed by Strangelove’s obvious anger on her behalf. It had been a long time since someone was affronted by The Boss’ existence. Nobody ever knew that much.

Or, like The Sorrow, they simply weren’t surprised.

She hadn’t seen The Sorrow in years, hadn’t even spoken to him at all about the loss of their son. Perhaps The Sorrow didn’t even know The Philosophers took him, but that was a naïve thought. The Sorrow always knew everything. That was his duty.

Was she lonely without him? It was hard to say. Their relationship had never quite been about companionship so much as… understanding. Maybe she wasn’t lonely because she so deeply knew they would meet again someday. On some other mission perhaps, but they would both stay alive for that day at least.

Wouldn’t he think it funny how she was fawning over this scientist girl? He wouldn’t mind. That was how they always were.

Maybe The Boss could indulge in companionship this time.

Strangelove wisely was changing the subject, although the thinness of her red lips betrayed how much she would think about The Boss’ son later. “Tell me about CQC,” she said abruptly. “You invented it.”

“It’s not something you can tell,” The Boss said. “I’d have to show you.”

Strangelove let out a wry but pretty little laugh. “Alright.” She set aside the remains of her sandwich and immediately stood. All business with Strangelove.

She kicked off her wedged shoes neatly beside her lunch bag, revealing black stockings.

“Give me all that you’ve got,” Strangelove commanded.

Oh, The Boss was already giving her that. The Boss smiled and stood as well.

They had to get into the sun, but at least Strangelove wasn’t blinded, with her sunglasses in place. The black lenses brought out the color of the dark mole crooked under her mouth.

The Boss stepped in very close. That was what the C stood for, after all. She could smell the spiciness of the mustard from Strangelove’s sandwich still on her breath.

She placed a large hand on Strangelove’s sharp shoulder, and curled the other carefully at the small of her back, where the waistcoat hugged her frame.

“Are you going to dance with me?” Strangelove scoffed, but she was also getting a bit of a flush in her cheeks.

Very slowly, The Boss dipped her, turned her over, hand moving gently to the back of her neck, the blunt hairs there, and then all in one motion she shoved Strangelove unceremoniously into the ground chest-first, earning a pretty hilarious yelp.

“How d—“ Strangelove started, glasses askew, but The Boss immediately perched on her back with a hand cupping the back of her head and firmly pressing her face to the concrete.

“Say uncle,” The Boss said mischievously.

“Very funny. Get off.”

Violence did give her Joy still. The rush of being better at something than your rival, the manic grin of victory. For normal people, perhaps this feeling manifested as competitive thrills. The Boss was simply in a job where murder was part of the mix.

But she could tell Strangelove was the same way. Perhaps she had to be, being a woman in a man’s workplace, having to shoot down her colleagues brutally to put them in their proper place to begin with, but also Strangelove was struggling underneath her now, cursing irritably, and that fight was one of the reasons The Boss was falling in love.

Love? Careful, careful. That’s far too tender a word to describe just about anything about The Boss.

The Boss bopped Strangelove’s head playfully a few times, smiling and secretly hoping to smear some of Strangelove’s lipstick on the ground in memorial.

“If I were you, I could get out of this hold.”

“Obviously,” Strangelove huffed.

“Want to know how?”

Strangelove squirmed and tried to get at her with bony elbows, which was answer enough.

“Try my wrist,” The Boss offered.

Strangelove bucked and grabbed up at the hand holding her head. But The Boss smoothly used this motion to sneak her other hand under Strangelove’s belly and scoop her over onto her back, across her lap.

Strangelove blinked up at the sky, one pale eye exposed. The Boss readjusted her sunglasses for her mercifully.

“What sort of hold is this?” Strangelove demanded, trying for authority even as she was winded and splayed across The Boss’ legs.

“A friendly one,” The Boss said. “But I imagine I could have slit your throat or something.”

“Then why did you tell me to go for your wrist?”

“Because that was how to get out of that hold earlier. I didn’t tell you what to do after that.”

Strangelove made an irritated huff of a sound and The Boss laughed.

“There’s not any one answer when it comes to CQC,” The Boss explained. “There’s no one way out. You have to think on your feet, but your opponent will be thinking and readjusting just as quickly. The Basics don’t actually get you very far. It’s all on you.”

“So that’s why you had to show me.”

“I guess.” The Boss fiddled a bit with Strangelove’s hair, fixing up her bangs, brushing hard knuckles over Strangelove’s soft forehead. “It was also pretty fun.”

“You liked beating me up?”

“I like beating anyone up. It fits because everybody else is looking for a reason to kill me, so it’s funny, right? It’s ruining someone’s joke.”

Strangelove finally curled her fingers around The Boss’ wrist, but not to stop her from petting her head in this strangely intimate way. More as a way of reciprocating. Gentle touches. Tenderness. The Boss hadn’t had a love this careful and kind in a long time.

“You frighten me,” Strangelove murmured.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. I mean that I’m frightened one day they’ll destroy you and you’ll let them. And I won’t be able to stop it.”

“It’s not your job to.”

Strangelove scoffed. “Not my job to,” she repeated under her breath, dismissive but also oddly wistful.

The Boss found herself smiling even broader, affectionate for this person.

The earth turned under them, the sun shifted, but for this moment they could lay intertwined like this, powerless but not alone.


End file.
